spring trails :: part II

 -- spring trails :: part I --

Two weeks after the big move, I got a call from a coworker at the community college. She said a friend of hers had a 'situation' with a sled dog, and the dog needed a new home - even a temporary one - as soon as possible. This did not sound good at all. 

The 'situation,' as far as I understand it, was this: The friend's cousin runs dogs, and one of those dogs had gotten into a fight last fall and been torn up pretty badly. The cousin wasn't interested in patching the dog up, so the friend stepped in and arranged surgery to repair the dog's body and then spent most of the winter nursing him back to health. The friend used to run dogs, but now mostly raises chickens and rabbits. This dog was pretty lonely in her yard, but was getting along well enough. She had been trying to find it a home, but without much success. The friend also had a small, geriatric poodle. She had owned this poodle for all of its 18 years. A few days before, the poodle got out into the yard. Nobody saw what happened, but they think the poodle was irritating the rescued sled dog, yipping and snapping as small old dogs will. They think the sled dog (who had coexisted with chickens and rabbits and children all winter without incident) finally snapped at the poodle in self defense. Instead of nipping the poodle, however, the powerful seventy pound sled dog snapped its neck. The poodle, the beloved old dog of the friend, died instantly. The friend was understandably devastated. Even though she was sure the sled dog hadn't meant to kill her poodle - he had only bitten him once, never shaken him, never chewed on his body - she couldn't stand to have him in her yard for another day. She could hardly look at him. She needed some one to take him, and do it as soon as possible.

My coworker knows we aren't planning on staying in Alaska past next winter and aren't looking to get any permanent sled dogs, but she also knew I would probably be willing to take in a dog that needed a temporary safe haven. I talked to the friend, who assured me that the dog was sweet and had been in harness and had no true dog aggression issues that she had seen. She also said that she though he had done some leading on her cousin's team, although she didn't think he was a command leader. She added another piece of information that sealed this dog into our yard, even though I was already planning on taking him: he is the son of Brent Sass' famous lead dog Silver. We arranged to meet downtown, and by the next afternoon I was headed home with a huge, shaggy black sled dog cowering in the back seat of my truck, and a huge pink dog house strapped down in the bed.

The dog came with the name Eagle, and we quickly figured out that he didn't know his name or respond to it at all. Peter, ever the Animal Naming Savant, decided that he would be called Norrin - the given name of the Silver Surfer, a tragic hero of Marvel Comic fame.  I don't know if renaming sled dogs is bad luck or bad form (like with boats) but I love the name Norrin and it suits him perfectly, given his lineage and unintentionally destructive history. And since we've renamed every animal we currently own (Duncan was originally Franklin, Pico was called Angus at the pound and August came to us with the very unfortunate name Ernie) I figure we've got enough bad luck coming to us if it is. That same afternoon, we found a Silver Surfer action figure laying in the dirt at the dump, and that coincidence overrode any apprehensions I had about the new moniker.

Norrin, a few hours after arriving at the house.

With Norrin in the yard and the new house settling into some form of order, I retrieved Dottie and Sawyer from my friend's dog yard and prepared for a trial run. The huge trail dropping right out of the yard was too tempting to pass up, even as the snow softened up and the creek ice thinned out. With the disaster that Pico had made of leading, I had no idea what would happen but was determined to try anyway. The day before the trial run, I strapped on snowshoes and attempted to pound down the snowed in trail between our house and the main trail system. It wasn't very pretty, but with no snow machine to pack it down it was the best I could do.

Norrin looked terrified when I hooked him up front and went back to get the other dogs. He cowered in a remarkably small ball of fur on the snow while I got everyone else snapped in. This was, at this point, his usual stance in the yard but I was beginning to wonder if he would pull in harness at all. With nothing much to lose, I pulled the snowhook and hollered to go. Pico took off down the trail and the girls nearly ran over Norrin before he jumped up and turned to run, but he did run. My snowshoe job hadn't done much but mark the trail. Norrin and Pico ended up having to plow through deep snow for nearly a quarter mile of trail before it opened up onto a more well traveled path. But once Norrin got his feet under him and started plowing through the drifts, he didn't stop or let his line slack for a second. He powered through the trail and stayed up front - keeping ADHD Pico in line - for the full four miles of our first run. I was flying high when we plowed back up the soft trail towards home - I had a leader again! - and the trails from our new house were spectacular beyond anything I'd hoped for. They were tree-line boulevards to Goldstream's rutted goat trails.

Norrin & Pico rocking the lead

We ran six more times before the creek ice got too bad to cross. I was in heaven, although Norrin with his dense northern coat struggled with the spring temperatures and we ended up running mostly at dawn or dusk to keep him cool. It was a mellow, happy end to a weird season of highs and lows and plenty of lessons to take into next year.

Dottie & Sawyer's owner left the state for the summer, and we ended up keeping them through the hot months. All the dogs have had a long break from running, trying to stay cool in the relative northern heat and shedding mountains of dense white undercoat. They come inside before dinner some nights, cuddling with us on the couch and terrifying Augie to no end, then running loose to stretch their legs before settling down to eat. I have learned that dog noses swell incredibly when assaulted by mosquitoes, what medications prevent bites, how to deal with hot spots and infections and that racing dogs will turn their noses up at drinking water no matter how hot and miserable they seem.

Pico, resigned to his fate after three minutes of brushing.

We are now into September. The mornings are almost cold, and the dogs are getting restless to run. Dottie and Sawyer will probably return to their own kennel soon and Dottie, at least, has run her last season. I have been recruiting more loaner dogs for the winter, hoping for a team of six or eight, but without much luck. I don't know what the winter will hold, quite yet, but I am holding out hope for miles and miles of trail up ahead. Whether those miles are run with three dogs or ten, only time will tell.